Aymar turned round. "Mme de Morsan did it deliberately, from malice, in the worst way she could. And the shock . . . I tried to explain but, having had to lie the other day . . . it was too difficult for her . . . my cousin . . ." He broke off and indicated the valise. "I must finish that. I suppose they will have taken the saddle off Hirondelle by now?"
Very gently Laurent laid his hand on his shoulder. "Mon ami, you cannot go like this. And you cannot ride Hirondelle, or any other horse, just yet."
Aymar shook his head. "It is of no use, Laurent. I must go. You have galloped Hirondelle. Besides, she does not pull. Perhaps you will fasten this for me? I think I have all I want."
Laurent looked at him, deeply troubled. What was he to do? "You will let me come, too, then, Aymar, will you not? Any horse will serve for me."
"No, I am afraid I cannot let you come."
Impossible to be hurt or offended. The situation was beyond that. "But where are you going?"
Once more Aymar shook his head, and, as Laurent had not moved, knelt down again by the valise. But Laurent lifted it to a chair and strapped it up in silence. As he finished there came the earthquake quiver of the door which testified that Sarrasin had let himself down against it outside.
When he looked round Aymar was standing motionless, gazing at something in his hand.
"It was on the floor. It must have been in the pocket of that coat, which I was wearing the night it broke. . . . And I come on it again now!"
Laurent came to look. It was the lost jartier, symbol now of so much that was lost. Aymar gave a little laugh, and crushing it together threw it across the room towards the fireplace. Laurent had an impulse, soon gone, to protest; but what did it matter now?